The Art of Regret: Asenora's Song
by Forgiven sins
Summary: Ada Summers, a fighter for justice, has lost herself. In this world of grief she finds one man, Peter Parker, who gives her a glimpse of happiness. Given the chance at a new life, will she take it? Or will she live forever in regret?
1. Prologue

Prologue:

There was blood in her eyes, its syrupy-thick liquid causing her eyes to sting as if it were saltwater. The blood continued until it had filled her eyes and blinded her. The air was alive with screams. People were crying out for her to save them but she couldn't see where they were in order to do so. She had her hands out in front of her, a blind woman searching for the cages that were within twenty feet of her reach. Her hands skirted over a fine linen shirt. She threw herself back but she wasn't quick enough and the man grabbed her by the shoulders. He pushed her against a wall, his hot breath in her ear, his pulsing body pressed against her delicate frame. She felt his hands on her neck. Slowly he traced the taught muscles of her neck as she tilted her head away in disgust. His fingers traced her taught muscles downwards to her breast bone. The screams were louder, begging to be free, pleading for the woman to save them, some just crying.

"I guess this should be our final goodbye," The man whispered, his hands traveling the deep v-cut that dipped between her breasts to below her bellybutton. Between her breasts, a mother-of-pearl pendant of a mermaid kept the deep v-cut together so that it didn't slip and reveal too much of her lily-white skin. She didn't need her eyesight to know that his eyes were locked on this pendant, or perhaps they were locked onto what lay on either side. "I'm leaving Europe tomorrow. I would advise you not to follow but I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

His fingers traced the pendant's curves, coming dangerously close to her trembling skin. "It's a pity, a true pity." He pushed his rigid body against hers, pressing a kiss to her bloody lips. She tried to turn her head but he held her in place. He pulled away and snapped his fingers. "Kill her."

She heard his footsteps against the metal grating of the floor as he walked away. She heard the screams of the trapped people grow louder as he walked past them. No doubt, their filthy little fingers would be reaching out from in between the bars of the cages. They would reach out and grab onto his pant legs and he would kick their desperate fingers, cursing them like the king he believed himself to be and they as the lowly louse-ridden peasants. She heard the sound of more footsteps; these were slower and were coming towards her, not away. The blood was still oozing from the gash on her forehead and brow, her sight still absent. Her ears tingled at the effort of hearing their hushed whispers above the racket of the screams.

She assessed from their voices and footsteps that there were five men, five heavy men. The cogs in her head began to turn furiously as she tried to think of a way to get the people out of the cages. The cogs abruptly stopped when she felt a searing hot pain in her stomach.

Her back arched against the wall in pain, head thrown back, mouth open. Her mouth was open but no tortured scream came from within. Seconds passed and finally, her scream came. This was a scream that was beyond any normal human's range. The sound rumbled first deep in her ribcage, the sound of tumbling boulders before an avalanche. Slowly the sound climbed up her throat. By the time it had reached her tonsils at the back of her throat, it had evolved into a high-pitched screech. The rafters shook. Heavy metal sheets loosened and fell from the ceiling. Her mouth closed and she tried to walk forward but the pain grew like fire and she realized she was stuck.

The people in the cages were screaming in a foreign tongue.

Energy flowed out from her body as though someone had pulled her cork and the nectar of life was flowing out onto the floor in puddles at her feet. Indeed, when her hands went to feel for the thing that was causing her so much pain she felt blood flowing freely from around a long shaft that had impaled her and kept her stuck to the wall.

The blood stopped flowing from the gash at her forehead and soon after her vision cleared. The five men were in the cages, guns in hand. Gunshots rang out and the screams became more panicked. She watched, a black mist slowly obscuring her vision again. The people crammed in the cages ran around like chickens before the butcher. Some people were pushed against the bars, crushed by the weight of the mob that tried desperately to hide from the bullets. Her hands pulled at the shaft that went through her but there was no doubt, it was safely secured to the wall as though it had been cemented. It wouldn't be long. Her energy was failing her. She screamed out in frustration. She looked up again. The gunshots were still ringing. A little boy's big brown eyes were looking at her, tears causing them to glass over. He was pressed against the cage, one arm thrust in between the bars, reaching for her.

"Ayudame." He formed with his lips, the tears falling from his eyes and into his mouth. "Ayudame, senorita."

She pulled at the shaft with all of her strength. The numbness began at her shoulders, slowly moving down to her elbows. She screamed as the shaft shifted, sending tremors of heat through her body. With as much strength she could muster, she pulled the shaft from her stomach and immediately collapsed onto the floor. She looked up at the cage, only able to move her neck. The little boy was watching her, hand still outstretched.

The black veil was falling.

The black curtain was falling on her life, the final curtain call.

This was the end.

She only wished she could have saved them. She wished she could have watched the life slipping from that man as it was from her.

The curtain fell and it was over.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"Dr. Jacque Rausenbleum, how wonderful to meet you." The reporter smiled before reaching across her desk to shake hands with Dr. Rausenbluem, accompanied by a tall young woman. "And this must be your wife, Ms. Summers. Welcome Dr. Rausenbluem, Ms. Summers." Hardly old enough to be considered a man, Jacques Rausenbluem took the reporter's hand in his and very lightly brushed his lips over the top of her palm. The reporter blushed madly. Composing herself, she smoothed her skirt out then took a seat. Jacque did the same. He was dressed in a finely tailored black and gray tweed jacket, his chin squared; brown eyes warm beneath thin black eyebrows. His lips curled into an amiable smile.

"Thank you for having us Jeanne." Dr. Rausenbluem spoke with a light French accent. He placed his hand over his "wife's". "And Ms. Summers hasn't said "I do" just yet."

Ada laughed, emerald-green eyes glittering. The reporter smiled again, shuffling the papers on her desk as she sought to find the right one.

"I apologize. Now, please, tell me Dr. Rausenbluem," She found the paper she had been looking for. "I'm sure you're aware of the numerous rumors that have been crossing the globe. You've created a, correct me if I'm wrong," She paused, searching for the right words. "A phylogenetic distribution of regenerative abilities…?" The elderly reporter's eyes crossed in a display of apparent confusion.

Dr. Rausenbluem chuckled, running his long fingers through his thick head of raven-black hair, "Yes, that's what the scientific community likes to call it. To put it into lamen's terms, it's quite simply the ability to remake a limb. My team of scientists have spent decades analyzing and dissecting the part of amphibian DNA that contains the recipe for recreating a limb. Finally, we have found the exact strand that controls regeneration and we've begun experimenting with DNA syndicates."

Ms. Summers clasped her hands together then placed them in her lap. As much as she hated it, Jacque had brought her here to the Daily Bugle to parade around as a trophy and nothing more, this she knew.

_Typical Jacque. Always wanting to show the others what he has and what they don't. _She thought to herself. All she had to do was sit, metal rod through her spine, smile painted onto her cherry lips, and wait for the reporter to write down all of the information she required. So much waiting and smiling was nothing new for her. As a child she had been very shy but even more-so beautiful. Her parents, who were the crème-de-la-crème of socialites throughout Europe detested such shy behavior and threw her into the world of modeling. A shy girl born into a family of party-going, happy-go-lucky, socialites? This would not do! But nevertheless, the popping white lights of the world of modeling had, to her mother's great pleasure, stripped her of her shy tendencies and molded her into a young woman "worthy of the Summer's name".

"I'm sorry, Ms. Janson," Jacque stood, his polite façade obviously ruffled. "But I do believe that our interview is done."

Ada Summers watched, knowing all too well that Jacques had reached the end of his rope. She didn't know how, but she did know this wouldn't end well.

"But Dr. Rausenbluem, you agreed to twenty minutes." The reporter stood, her face panicked. "We still have ten more minutes left. You can't just leave. We had a verbal agreement!"

Jacque's face flushed a deep burgundy. "Jacque," Ada put her hand on his arm, lightly. "Please, sit down."

"I suppose you didn't hear me correctly." Jacque jerked his arm away then slammed his fist down onto the reporter's desk. Her thin, beanstalk-like body quivered violently. "Our interview has been terminated. As a good rule of thumb, Ms. Janson, get everything down in writing. Now, good day." He stalked to the door, opened it and was about to step out when he paused and turned his head back. "Ada, we're leaving." He rushed through the typing room quickly enough to send the papers on the close-set desks fluttering like uncaged birds. The reporters who had been typing on the typewriters had to make a mad dash to hold them down.

As Ada stood she noticed a small crowd of reporters at Ms. Janson's office door.

"Ms. Janson." Ada stood across from the shivering woman, her desk the only thing separating the two. "I'm sorry about Dr. Rausenbluem, please forgive him. It was a great pleasure to meet you." She reached across the desk to clasp the reporter's trembling hand in hers.

No sooner had the young woman left the room, the crowd of reporters bustled in.

Above the buzzing ruckus one man's voice rose above the din, "Want me to go drag him back in here, Jeannie?"

The reporter plopped down into her chair, a sigh escaping her pursed lips. "No, that's all right Peter. Not a lot of good that'll do. If he doesn't want to talk," She paused. Slowly, she opened her palm. A folded piece of white paper had been slipped into her hand. Steadying her hands, she unfolded the piece of paper and read it. "If he doesn't want to talk, _he_ doesn't have to."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"How could you talk to that poor woman like that?" We were sitting in the back of the Rolls Royce, speeding off towards Jacque's hotel. Jacque sat beside me, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It was quite apparent that he wasn't going to answer my question. "Jacque, did you hear me or should I ask again?"

"Please, Ada," Jacque looked over at me, "Let's not fight. Not now. I have too much on my mind right now."

"No, you agreed to an interview with her and now look what's happened!" I pointed my finger at him. "You've run off, but not only that, you've insulted her!" I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. When I began to speak again, I made sure that my tone was back to normal. "What's gotten into you? Is it the project?"

"Ada," Jacque's tone was sharp. I knew immediately that I had pressed one too many buttons. "Don't mention the project."

"Why not? You want to make me your wife but tell me, how is any sort of marriage going to work if we don't communicate?"

"We do communicate."

"Asking to "pass the butter" is not communicating." He smirked, thinking this was my attempt at a joke. My serious expression showed him contrary. "We've been together, how long?" I paused, allowing him time to think. "I've been with you since I was fifteen years old. I've never loved another man. Five years. Five years and you have yet to tell me what this project is! I don't understand why it has to be so secretive."

"I've told you about the regeneration."

"But I know there's more to it then that. I've been to the laboratory back home. Your laboratory has twelve levels. Three of those twelve levels are used for Project: Regeneration. What could you possibly need with nine empty levels?"

"Storage." He was on the defensive now. Good. Just where I wanted him. "The project requires a great deal of storage space!"

"Don't take me for some air-headed bimbo, Jacque. You should know me by now. But okay, just for arguments sake, let's say you do use nine of those twelve levels for storage. Where do your meetings with Japan and Italy's Prime Ministers fit into all of this?" I watched as Jacques' face became a ghostly sheet of white. "I thought you were going to use your research to benefit the scientific and medicinal community?"

"You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Ada."

"Maybe I wouldn't have to stick my nose _anywhere_ if you would clue me in to what's going on! Before we came here, the police paid us a visit in Milan. Tell me what's going on!"

"How would you know that?" Jacques' eyes widened. "You were at a photo shoot."

"Yes and no." I turned from the man beside me, the man I no longer knew, and faced forward. "But that's not all I know. I also know that they were demanding to search the lab."

"No more!" He made a frantic glance at the driver before returning his gaze upon me. "We won't speak of such things here. If you wish, we'll continue this conversation over dinner." Jacques opened the car door. We wouldn't finish this conversation, ever. "Driver, will you please take Ms. Summers to her apartment in Manhattan, Upper East Side." He stepped out of the car then leaned back in and kissed me. He tried for my lips but I turned my cheek to him at the last minute. "Goodbye, beautiful."

Jacques closed the car door and we began to drive away. I bit my lip, straightened out my spine, and began to wring my sweating palms out on my black skirt. My eyes were stinging so I focused on the world outside of myself, just past my window. I watched as the sun made its slow descent behind the tall skyscrapers. I bit my lip until my canines threatened to break the skin. My eyes closed to shut out the tears. Unfortunately closing my eyes only forced the tears to fall down.

We used to be in love. I honestly believed he was the one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. Jacque Rausenbluem was caring, charismatic, hard-working, and honest. _Dr._ Jacque Rausenbluem was cold, unfeeling, and secretive. I was in love with Jacque Rausenbluem but unfortunately, it seemed that he had been taken over by the doctor in him.

"Aw, Ms. Summers," I opened my eyes to see the driver peering at me from the rearview mirror. He spoke in a charming thick New York accent. "Please don't cry. It don't look good for such a pretty lady to cry."

"I'm alright." I smiled as I flicked a tear from my cheek. "See? All better. It was just a little dirt, that's all."

He nodded. "Yeah, I deal with dirt like that all the time. You may call them dirt in Europe but here in New Yoik we call them scumbags. I've seen you's on magazine stands. If I was a pretty young model like you'sself, I'd kick that fella' to the curb and find me a nice New Yoiker to take his place."

"You're sweet." I paused before scooting forward until I was at the edge of my seat. I leant forward so that my head was in the front seat, suddenly remembering something. "Speaking of New Yorkers… do you know anything about this so-called "half-man, half-spider" fella'?"

"Do I know anything about him?" He laughed. "I know a pretty good deal. Everyone knows about Spiderman. You really have been in Europe a long time, haven't ya? " He pulled the Rolls Royce up to the front of my apartment and got out to get my bags from the trunk. I jumped out of the car and followed him, an excited puppy after its master.

"Too long. But yes, Spiderman… yes, that sounds like him." I was nearly bouncing with excitement. "Everyone in Europe thinks he's some sort of fluke."

"Nah, I used to think so too." With a grunt, he grabbed my bags in either hand and began to walk towards the concierge standing near the revolving doors. "But fluke or not, he's helped a lot of people."

"If I wanted to see him where might he be found?"

"Jeeze, he's everywhere. Not too hard to find." He handed my bags over to the concierge, "Jus' keep your eyes to the sky and you'll find him."

I handed him a twenty dollar bill. "Thank you so much, for everything." He tipped his hat and left.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Jeannie," Peter Parker poked his head into her office, "You want me to walk you home?"

Jeanne looked up from her computer screen. She smiled, deep crow's-feet revealing themselves at the corners of her eyes. She had always liked Peter Parker. He was partly the reason she argued that the younger generation wasn't completely doomed.

"Don't worry about it, Peter." She sighed, taking her glasses off and squeezing her eyes shut. "I just want to do a few more things around here before I leave. Thanks anyways sweetkins."

"You sure?" He tried again, hating to leave the seventy-four-year-old woman to take the subway by herself, especially past nine o'clock in such a dangerous city as New York. "I can wait."

"Hush, you! You get on home." She put her glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of her nose with her index finger. "This might take me a while. Anyways, I won't be able to get anything done knowing I have someone waiting on me to finish."

Peter sighed then waved, walking towards the elevator. "Alright then, Jeannie. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early." As he stepped into the elevator he waved again. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" She hollered, returning to the harsh light of the computer screen.

Another hour or so and she was nearly finished. The only thing missing was a closer.

"And so," She typed on her keyboard. "Could there be some truth found in the rumors surrounding Dr. Jacque Rausenbleum? Yes. Will this reporter give up until she finds exactly what those truths are? Most definitely… **not**! 'Til nex-" She stopped typing. The elevator doors had just opened.

"Ralph? Is that you?" She asked. Ralph was one of the janitors on the nightshift. There was no reply. "Peter?" Again, no reply. She pushed her chair away from her desk and stepped out of the office. Across the room full of typewriter desks, the elevator doors were slowly closing but there was no one inside. A cold chill ran down her spine.

Ignoring the cold chill, she turned back towards her office. No sooner had she turned her back to the elevator doors than the lights went out, leaving her alone in complete darkness. She threw her back up against the wall, her breathing having begun to speed up. From the faint lights of the busy New York nightlife outside, she was able to make out the shadow of a man on the other side of the room walking towards her. A sinking feeling in her stomach told her to run. She chose to listen. As fast as her legs could carry her she made her way to the stairwell, after realizing that with the power out the elevator would be useless. She was about to begin running down the stairs when she realized that the power was out from her floor down to the ground-level floor. Every floor above her still had power. She weighed her options. She could venture the 25 stories down to the ground floor, in the dark, or she could go up where there was light and perhaps other people. She chose the second option.

She ran up the stairs and at every landing tried to open the door to get inside of the offices. Each and every door was locked. She continued upwards until finally one of the doors opened. The only door that opened was the one that led out onto the rooftop. Fear eating away at her tired legs, she nearly fell onto the roof when she opened the door. She crawled out of the doorway and shut the door, sitting in front of it to allow herself a second to catch her breath in the muggy summer air.

She looked around. The rooftop was huge, the majority covered in complete dark from the shadow cast by taller skyscrapers beside it. There was no way for her to get down unless she went down the way she came. When she heard footsteps coming from the stairs behind the door, she knew she was stuck. Suddenly panicked, she jumped up and ran from the door, towards the ledge.

The man kicked the door open. Ms. Janson was sent into a hysterical frenzy.

"Help me!" She screamed at the people in the surrounding buildings. "Someone, help me!" She watched the windows of the buildings, half-expecting someone to come to the window, see her in her frantic state, and call the police, but she also half-expected no one at all.

The man fired a bullet at her. It skimmed by her ear, missing her by mere inches. She screamed again, falling to her hands and knees as she scurried farther from the man.

A strange melody curled in the wind, as sweet and smooth as syrup, until it curled around her ears and scooped inside, immediately calming her fried nerves. The man continued to walk towards her, fire glowing in his black eyes. The melody suddenly got louder and more high-pitched. It continued to rise in pitch until it began to shake Ms. Janson's eardrums. The pitch continued higher still and finally she had to close her palms over her ears at an attempt at muffling the sound. It was of no use. Just when she thought she could take no more the sound stopped. Whereas the man hadn't heard it before, he heard it now and it sent him sprawling to his knees.

"Hey, you." A voice called from the dark side of the roof. "Yeah, you. Tall, dark and creepy. How about you leave the nice lady alone?"

Ms. Janson strained her eyes to try and distinguish a faint figure through the dark but it was to no avail. The man, no longer being affected by the sound, took a step away from the reporter and towards the voice, an angry "Gurrrrrrgle" emanating from his throat. As soon as the man had disappeared into the dark, Ms. Janson made a mad dash for the opposite side of the roof. Her wide eyes searched the rooftop again for stairs, fire escapes, ladders, anything to get down, but the roof was completely bare save for the door to get back into the building. She ran to the door and turned the knob. It wouldn't open. She turned the knob the other way but it still wouldn't open. An animal-like scream escaped between her closed lips as she tried desperately to jerk the door open. It still refused to open.

She ran back to the edge of the building. Gripping the two-foot tall ledge, she looked over the side and onto bustling Times Square, thirty-six stories below. The wind whipped through her loose hair, stealing her breath away as it did.

"Dear God Almighty," She whispered, feeling suddenly faint as she threw herself away from the edge, flattening her body onto the safety of the rooftop, her cheek resting on the hot cement. She was lying in this position when a body flew from the dark and landed with a great –THUD!- ten feet in front of her. She closed her eyes, hoping for a split second that it was the man that had been chasing her. When she opened her eyes again, she saw steam rising from the figure as it tried desperately to push itself up to its feet. Its palms were flat against the roof as it tried to get up. As soon as she believed it was going to get up, it fell against the ground again with a groan.

It wasn't the man. Ms. Janson scurried to the figure's side. She reached out with one hand to turn the body over but hesitated. She contemplated whether or not this being was another person out for her life, but the thought vanished just as quickly as it had come. She pulled the body over so that it lay on its back.

It was a woman. Ms. Janson could tell as much from the well-developed curves through the tight pearlescent latex that she wore. Aforementioned, the woman wore a tight pearlescent latex cat suit that dipped down below her belly-button as a deep V-cut in the front, revealing a taut stomach and lily-white cleavage. Three-inch heeled boots connected seamlessly with the bottom of the cat suit, leaving the reporter to wonder what would happen if one's heel were to snap off. Shaking her head, she told herself this wasn't the time or place to be thinking on such trivial things.

She tried to see the woman's face but an unruly mop of crimson ringlets had been flung over her face. With trembling hands, she brushed the ringlets from the woman's face only to reveal a matching pearlescent mask that covered her eyes, a silver screening over her eyes.

The gurgling was heard from the dark once more, forcing the reporter's mind to jumpstart.

"Wake up!" Ms. Janson grabbed hold of the woman's waist and began to shake her. "Oh, please wake up!" A warm liquid coated her fingertips, causing her to cease shaking the woman. As she brought her fingers away from the woman's side and up to her face, she gasped. Her entire hand was coated in an almost black blood. Quickly, she turned the woman onto her side and saw a gaping wound, revealing an immense amount of torn flesh and muscle. "Jesus Christ." She whispered as the man appeared from the dark. It took a step towards the two, wielding a gun in its hand.

It lifted the gun, cocked it back and aimed. Ms. Janson held the woman's body close against hers and pressed her eyes shut, her lips forming the words of The Hail Mary.

"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallow be thy name."

A sound of something cutting through the air caused her eyelids to flutter open.

"Spiderman!" Ms. Janson screeched, having never been quite so happy to see New York's neighborhood wall-crawler as she was now.

"M'am." Spiderman crouched on the ledge, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat in her direction. "Looks to me-" He was cut short by a tingling at the back of his head. From past experiences, he knew better than to ignore this feeling. In a split second he had flipped backwards off of the ledge and was falling, having barely missed a speeding bullet. The reporter gasped, letting the woman go as she threw herself against the ledge. Just as she had peered over the ledge, a line of webbing shot out and gripped the ledge beside her. Spiderman was pulling himself quickly back onto the rooftop.

_Whoa, okay Pete, less talk._ He thought to himself as he climbed back onto the ledge and got his bearings once more.

"Spiderman. Get Ms. Janson out of here." The wounded woman was up and holding a short three-pronged dagger in her hands. The handle of the three-pronged dagger shot out and lengthened a good three feet into a Triton. She spun the Triton in her hands, walking towards the man. "I can handle this."

"Wha- who…" Spiderman began but stopped, nodding. "I'll be back." He scooped Ms. Janson into his arms, shot out a thick line of webbing at the rooftop, then leaped from the side of the building. The old woman shrieked and pressed her face into his shoulder as the two free-fell nearly twenty stories. At the last ten stories he slowed their freefall by shooting out another line of webbing that secured itself to a nearby building. He swung from the line and shot out another onto a farther building. He continued this until he had reached the Police Bureau. Two policemen were standing at the doorway when he dropped Ms. Janson gently onto the steps. "As always, it was a pleasure Ms. Janson." Like earlier, he tipped his imaginary cowboy hat then pulled himself up the side of the building using another line of webbing.

As quick as he could manage he traveled between the skyscrapers until he had returned to the Daily Bugle. Back on the rooftop, the man was gone. In his place was a chunky puddle of yellow gunk. Spiderman knelt down beside the puddle, running his index and forefinger through the mess and bringing it close to his face for a better view.

"It was a poor, organic, water-based attempt at a clone." The woman was standing behind him but he acted as though her appearance was of no surprise. "Electricity separates the poorly-fitted atoms and as a result it forms that which you see here."

"Not bad," He stood and faced her. "For a newcomer."

She smiled, not knowing whether to take this as a compliment or otherwise. Her smile didn't last long as it quickly faded into a grimace.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, taking a step towards her. Blood seeped through a hand clasped over her side. He made a motion to remove her hand but she stepped away.

"I'm fine." She dropped her hand, revealing a wide wound in her side.

"If you call a huge hole in your stomach fine, then sure, you're just dandy. Let's get you to a-" As he spoke, the wound began to shrink before his very eyes. In a matter of seconds, it went from the size of two fists to the size of a quarter until it had vanished completely.

The woman smirked then turned towards the side of the building. She walked to the corner where the two faces of the building met, then stepped up onto the ledge.

"Wait a sec," Spiderman took a step toward her. "I didn't get your name."

"I'm sure you'll find it in your beloved Bugle tomorrow." With that said, she turned to face him then took a backwards step off the building and disappeared.

Spiderman ran forth and watched as the woman fell from the side of the building, her gloved fingers skimming the wall. His heart stopped as he watched. His legs tingled as they desperately fought against his brain to spring forward and catch her. Horrible thoughts of her smashed into a bloody pulp against the sidewalk began to run through his mind.

_She wouldn't just jump off of a building to her death. _He thought, watching her quick descent. _She didn't come off as the nutsoid type._

His thoughts were confirmed. She gripped the corner of the building and was able to slow herself down. As soon as her feet hit the ground she was off, running. She ran into an alley where he lost sight of her.

She ran into the alley and as soon as she knew she was out of sight, she threw her back up against a wall. Her side was aching as though a cinderblock-sized splinter had been thrust into her. The skin was unmarred but just underneath the surface she could feel her organs and muscles pulling themselves back together, much more slowly than the skin had.

"Idiot." She muttered to herself, pushing her body away from the wall and walking slowly down the alley. "Showing off like that! And that, that _thing,_ was way outta your ballpark." Halfway down the alley the metal bottom of her heel clinked against something metal. She stepped to the side then with a great deal of effort, lifted the manhole-cover up and threw it to the side. She kneeled back down, a smile playing on her crimson lips. "Not bad for a newcomer. Ha! He ain't seen nothing yet. Oh, wait, damnit! There I go, getting ready to show off again." She stood and scowled. With a sigh she stepped into the manhole, pulling the cover back over as she climbed lower into the dark sewer.


	5. Chapter 4

So here it is, chapter four! I really hope you enjoy and pleaseeeee rate and review.Reviews really help me get motivated to write more (even when they're reviews saying that my story is crap).Oh! And thank you so much Wiccanprincess for adding my story to your favorites. It made my day : )

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I woke to the morning's rays burning through my window and onto my face, making the back of my eyelids appear orange. I pulled the heavy burgundy comforter over my head. The sun was too strong. I turned onto my side, away from the window overlooking Manhattan Bay.

"Good, you're awake." That voice. The unmistakable French accent.

"Jacque," I pulled the comforter away from my face, trying to fathom a smile despite my extreme grogginess. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sweet cheeks." He got up from the chair he had been sitting in and came to my bedside to plant a kiss on my forehead. "Suppose dinner was a no-go last night, hmm?"

Underneath the comforter I pinched the skin of my arm in between my fingernails. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. After I came here I just laid down and watched a movie and I guess I fell asleep. I really meant to meet you for dinner, honest."

"It's fine. I sent a message to the concierge to forward to you that I couldn't make it anyway." He went back to his chair and grabbed a newspaper then came back to the bed and sat down on the edge beside me. "Something came up."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." He closed the newspaper then folded it over. "I had to oversee the new laboratory here before they could begin mass production."

"What?" I asked, sitting up on my elbows.

"Didn't I tell you? We've built a laboratory right here in New York."

"No, no I knew that." I could feel my eyebrows knitting together. "What's this about mass production?"

"We've begun mass production of the regeneration serum." He handed me the newspaper. "And we would have had it ready for market had someone not broken in."

I opened the newspaper then shook out the crease. Front page of the Daily Bugle in big, bold letters: "**Sirene: The Sinful Siren Of New York, **as reported by: Jeanne Janson and edited by J. Jonah Jameson". Below the headline was a blurry picture of a woman's silhouette, Triton in hand. I bit down on my lip, choking back a laugh.

"She looks like a bad knockoff of that mermaid on the tuna fish can." I giggled but Jacque didn't find it the least bit amusing.

"She's following us, Ada." He stood from the bed, his face pinched in with fear. He walked over to the window overlooking the bay, drawing the heavy velvet curtains down. He turned back and began to pace at the foot of my bed. "She robbed the laboratory in Milan and now here, thousands of miles away in New York!"

I skimmed the article. So, this Sirene character seemed quite the evil seductress. As the article went, she put a man under her spell by merely singing to him. Once under her spell she forced him to attack Ms. Janson. When the siren and her slave had pinned Ms. Janson on the roof of the Daily Bugle, Spiderman (who was obviously angry to have another fiend crowding in on his domain) had come to the rescue, just to show the new-girl-in-town that New York was still _his_ town.

"Are you sure this is the same woman from Milan? I mean, says here she's some sort of killer." I handed Jacque the paper. "The woman from Milan may have been a thief but she was no killer."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Jacque crumpled the newspaper in his hands. "Thieves can easily become murderers. It's just like cokeheads and heroin-addicts; as soon as the adrenaline rush is gone they move onto more serious stuff to get their fix."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" I sank back underneath the comforter. "It's not like you can just get rid of her."

He had stopped pacing.

"Right, Jacque?" I had stuck my foot in my mouth. "Right?" I pulled the comforter down from my face. "Jacque?"

He pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket. "Charles, yes, it's Dr. Rausenbluem." He spoke into his cell phone, his face void of any sort of emotion. "Just a moment." He put his hand over the receiving end of his phone then looked at me, "Sweetheart, do you mind?"

"Jacque, you aren't thinking what I think you're thinking." He looked at me with those eyes of his like smooth brown pebbles. "Right?"

"No, sweetheart, I just remembered that I forgot to do something in the lab. Now, if you would?" He nodded towards my bedroom door. I sighed. Wrapping the comforter around me, I pulled it from the bed and walked into the kitchen. Jacque immediately shut my bedroom door.

On the large white marble table sat a huge vase of, my favorite, Calla Lilies. I wrapped the comforter tighter around my body, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and leaned in to rub my cheek against the soft white flesh of the lilies. I opened my eyes and saw a card. I didn't bother opening it. As bitter as this may sound, there was no one I wanted to be receiving flowers from. No, not even from my future husband. I walked over to the couch, shuffling my feet against the marble floors as I went. A breath of air rushed from my lungs as I flopped down on the couch and buried my face into the feather-down pillow.

My bedroom door opened. "Ada, I have to run." I could hear him as he stepped out of my room. "Ada? Ada, where are you?"

"Here." I spoke into the pillow, too tired to move. He kissed the top of my head before rushing to the front door.

"Sorry to keep on running off like this." He opened the door. "I promise I'll make it up to you. I love you, beautiful."

He lingered at the door. He knew he wouldn't get those same three words coming from my lips. I was deathly afraid of those words and had never said them to him, or anyone else for that matter, before. Yet he continued trying, everyday. I suppose you had to give the guy props for persistence.

"You too." I replied. Perhaps too rushed to care about my blasé reply, he left and closed the door behind him.

Once he was gone I turned over onto my side and watched the empty fireplace across the living room. Empty, when hours before it had been so alive. Without the fire, it served as a beautiful showpiece for people to look at and awe over its lovely construction. With fire dancing in its mouth, people awed at its ability to warm up a large room like the living room, with it being such a small fireplace. With fire it had purpose. Without fire it served only as a showpiece.

I sat up and decided to rummage through the stack of magazines the concierge had sent up for me last night. Newsweek? No. Nowadays all news was bad news. Time Magazine? Already read it last week. Vogue?

I held the Vogue in my hands. There, on the cover, a high-cheekboned, emerald-eyed woman stared up at me. Her heart-shaped voluptuous crimson lips were open, mid-laugh. Long, delicate fingers were gloved in black, satin gloves, and rested under her chin. Her red hair came down in perfectly shaped ringlets around her oval face. There was a light that glowed from within that illuminated her rouged cheeks and lily skin. Beside her picture read: "**The New Face of Beauty**" and suddenly I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scratch my skin raw. I wanted to be anyone else but me.

I ripped the cover from the thick magazine and stood from the couch, making my way over to the kitchen sink. I watched the water as it was spewed from the faucet. I crumpled the cover into a ball, and, using a fork, stuffed it into the drain. With a flick of my wrist I flipped the switch for the garbage disposal and listened as the paper was ripped into a million different little pieces.

As I walked back to the couch I saw in the corner of my eye that same woman from the cover of the magazine. I nearly screamed when I turned and saw her standing there in my front entrance. I stepped forward, grabbed the mirror from the wall and threw it onto the marble floor. It shattered into a million shards of glass. I stepped forward, ignoring the slight pin pricks as the smaller pieces dug themselves into my toes. Leaning over to get an overhead view of the glasses, I smiled. "How's that for the new face of beauty?"

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So what do you think? What do you think about Ada? What about Jacque? Do they seem too fake? Please review! It would help me a lot.


	6. Chapter 5

_You've made it to Chapter 5! Congrats:) So tell me, how is it so far? Need more action? Hang in there... next chapter it starts to get gooood. (Well... I guess I should leave that assumption to you)_

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Chapter 5 

"Congrats on making front page Jeannie!"

Jeanne Janson smiled at the passerby as she walked into her office. She sat down behind her desk. On the desk was the issue of the Daily Bugle in which her story had made front page. Sirene. The woman that had saved her life. She hadn't looked at the story as she had written it and knew exactly what it said but an unfamiliar title caught her eye.

"What the…" Jeannie grabbed the magazine and brought it inches from her face to make sure that her aging eyes had read the words correctly.

"Sirene: The Sinful Siren of New York…? What kind of crap is this?" Her eyes scanned the title again, thinking that perhaps someone else had written an article similar to the one she had submitted the day before. No, the proof was there in bold blue ink, "…as reported by: Jeanne Janson… and edited by J. Jonah Jameson." She jumped from her seat and burst into her boss' office, ignoring his just-hired secretary's protests.

"Mr. Jameson-" She began but was hushed by Jameson's index finger.

"Marla, if we're going to spend nineteen-hundred smackers on a damned gardener then he better be able to make Mother Mary's face out of topiary." Jameson barked into his phone. "I don't care if he's from Italy! Can he make Mother Mary's face out of topiary? No? What about Elvis? Not even Elvis? Then I suggest you start looking for a new gardener."

Jameson hung up on his wife and turned to face his employee, Jeanne. "Ah, Ms. Janson. Congratulations on your article. It's sold fifty-thousand copies, _already_." Mr. Jameson reached into his desk drawer and began to shuffle around inside of it. "Funny thing to get a call from you at one in the morning but it was worth it."

"Thank you Mr. Jameson but there's a problem."

"Problem? What sort of problem?" Mr. Jameson slammed the drawer shut and shouted, "Carla. Carla! Where are my cigars?"

Jameson's secretary hustled into the room, appearing very nervous. "Mr. Jameson, sir, your wife asked me to throw your cigars away. She said you were trying to quit smoking… sir."

Mr. Jameson groaned, rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. "Carla, who do you receive a paycheck from every month?"

"You, sir." Carla replied, digging the toe of her tan pump into the wood floor.

"Who gave you this job here at the Daily Bugle?"

"You, sir."

"And who can fire you?" He screamed, slamming his fists down.

"Yo- you, sir." She managed to sputter out.

"Bingo. Now if you still want this job, go and find me some damned cigars!" Carla nearly ran from the office as he bellowed his commands. After she had left he turned back to Jeanne.

"Now, what were we talking about? Ah yes, your article."

Jeanne gulped. After seeing yet another one of her boss' explosions she reconsidered her complaint. She looked down at the magazine in her hands and the fire inside of her was relit. The flame was much smaller now, but it was a flame all the same.

"Mr. Jameson, this isn't my article."

"Sure it is." Jameson reached forward and snatched the magazine from her hands. "See there." He pointed to the title and slowed his words as if he were talking to a child or in the case of Jeannie, an old woman. "R-e-p-o-r-t-e-d b-y: J-e-a-n-n-e J-a-n-s-o-n."

"Yes, sir, I understand that, but I didn't write this. Sirene and Spiderman saved me. In this article it sounds like Sirene and Spiderman were out to get me."

"Right." He handed Jeanne the magazine. "You were scared. When people are scared they tend to get delirious. You thought Sirene and Spiderman were trying to help you but chances are they were the ones coordinating the entire thing. It's understandable that you would be confused."

She had been working for the Daily Bugle for fifty years now, making her the longest running journalist in the Daily Bugle's history. Jeanne always saw her fifty years insignificant when compared to the Bugle's age, founded in 1897. She had already been a veteran journalist when High School student John Jonah Jameson came to the Bugle to work as a reporter. He was as stubborn and demanding then as he was now. She knew her boss like the back of her hand which is precisely why she gave up fighting about the article.

"Alright, Jameson, you're right." Saliva gathered at the back of her throat and made her choke out the words, "I was probably delirious." She looked down at "her" article and turned away from the office.

Back in her own, smaller, office, she laid her head on her desk and let her thoughts run rampant through her mind. _They saved my life and how do I repay them? I run their name through the mud. What can I do to make this right? What can-_

Her thoughts were temporarily stopped by a knock. She lifted her head to see Peter Parker at her door, smiling, as always. _There could be fire raining from the sky outside and he would still be smiling._ She thought, laughing softly to herself.

"Hey Pete, come on in." She waved him into her office. He came in and sat across from her desk, noticing the magazine article. Jeanne saw him looking at it and sighed.

"I know what you're going to ask. I'll save you the time. I didn't write it."

"I know you didn't, Jeannie. And that wasn't what I was going to ask."

"Okay, go ahead." She said as she turned her computer on.

"I wanted to know if you're okay after what happened last night. Having someone chase you then pull a gun is some pretty scary stuff."

"Thank you for asking, but yes I'm fine. Other than that churning in my stomach from Jameson's hack job editing, I'm alright." She turned from the computer screen to look at Peter. She ran her hands over her wrinkled face and pushed the air from her lungs. "Those people helped me and I made them seem like common criminals. What Mr. Jameson does to Spiderman's name every week is horrible enough, but for me, someone that he's actually saved, to have a hand in the slandering of his name? That's despicable."

"I'm sure he knows that you didn't write that about him, Jeannie." Peter placed his hand over hers.

"I hope so." She placed her other hand atop of his and patted it before she took both hands and began typing on the keyboard.

"Who do you think this Sirene character is anyways?" He asked, looking at the silhouette in the picture on the front page.

"Don't know," Jeanne stopped typing to open a drawer and retrieve her thick-lensed glasses. "Her costume was a little too revealing for my tastes. I suppose that's just my age revealing itself. She's a sight though, isn't she?"

"I guess. This picture isn't that great." He suddenly remembered the mysterious woman's tight cat suit, the deep cut that revealed so much skin, tight stomach, cleavage… He cleared his throat. "Do you think she can be trusted?"

"She did nearly get herself killed for my sake. I guess that warrants _my_ trust. I don't know about the rest of New York after Jameson's little number but yes, I trust her."

Peter nodded, taking in her words.

"Enough talk about the young and beautiful. What are you doing here? Come to bring in some more pictures of our friend?" She began again to type with mad haste on her keyboard.

"No, actually I haven't been able to get any good pictures of him lately. Mr. Jameson's been getting antsy about the lack of pictures so I decided to break out my old photos to try and pass them off as new."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah, but I told him it's been really hard since crime has been steadily declining. He assigned me to take some pictures for the High Society section." Peter sighed. "High Society photo shoots always send me through the ringer. I know nothing about their world and I always feel like they can tell. To make matters worse, Jameson wants pictures of one girl in specific; some famous model from Europe who's supposed to be here in New York."

"Ada Summers." Now Jeanne was interested. "I'm meeting with her tomorrow for an interview."

"Interview for what?"

"Remember when that man stormed out of here yesterday?" He nodded. "Well that was her fiancée, the scientist. I was attempting to interview him as he was the man who supposedly made the breakthrough for phylo-" She attempted to remember what it was called but drew a blank.

"Phylogenetic distribution of regenerative abilities?" Peter's eyes were wide. "Dr. Jacques Rausenbluem. _That_ was him?"

"Yes. Guess you've heard of him?" She noted Peter's saucer eyes. "I thought he looked too young to be a world-renowned scientist too. The both of them, too young to be as successful as they are. Dr. Rausenbluem is only what, twenty-three? And Ms. Summers is a mere twenty!" She chuckled. When she was their age it was uncommon for a woman of _forty_ to be working. For a woman to be successful was unheard of. In this day and age more and more women were becoming successful, some of them reaching self-made success before they had truly become women. Her head visibly shook back-and-forth as she cleared her head and put herself back onto the subject. "Well, after Dr. Rausenbluem stormed out Ms. Summers gave me a piece of paper. All it read was "Interview?" with her phone number below it. I called her today and she was happy to agree to an interview about the rumors surrounding her fiancée and his work on one condition: the interview had to be about her fiancée and not herself. Of course, I agreed."

Peter didn't have to ask what rumors she was referring to. He had heard them. All of them. How could he have not? Dr. Jacques' breakthrough in regeneration had sent the scientific community into a frenzy. Numerous scientists had tried to replicate the regenerative ability found in amphibians but had failed miserably. Transferring amphibian DNA into human strands was a tricky undertaking, made even more so by the fact that human DNA strands were prone to reject amphibian DNA. He had seen mutants with amphibian-like abilities and science-projects-gone-wrong but the scientific community refused to acknowledge these creatures as anything but myths. His discovery of a way to transfer the DNA had made him famous instantaneously.

_With fame, whether it be good or bad, _Peter thought with a knowing smirk, _comes rumors._

"Here's an idea! How about you come with me to the interview tomorrow?" Her face lit up. "I'm sure Ms. Summers wouldn't mind and it would give you a chance to meet her and learn a little bit before you go off snapping her picture. Come on, Pete."

Rumors had come no sooner than Dr. Rausenbluem had told the world that he had found the key to regeneration. People began to say that he had tested it on himself; that he was creating clones in his lab as well as cultivating regeneration; that he had sold his soul to the Devil for a chance at fame; that he was, illegally, using highly reactive and dangerous stones such as plutonium and uranium to alter human DNA. Of course, Peter highly doubted that there was any truth to these rumors; but it couldn't hurt to check it out.

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_So, how was it? Please review, it motivates me to write. If you don't like any part of the story so far (it's too cliche, too fake, too boring) **please** let me know. I can't improve unless you tell me what needs improving. Thanks!_


	7. Chapter 6

_Alright, ready yourself... this chapter is pretty long but I promise it'll be worth it! (Well, I hope so at least!) Thank you so much for the reviews Wiccanprincess! They keep me going. As for all you other people, follow her example :)_

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Chapter 6: 

It was still morning when I arrived home from brunch with my agent Charles Weston, Chas for short. We had been sitting under a great yellow and white umbrella at one of New York's nicer restaurants when he blurted out, nearly shaking with his excitement, "I've bagged you the gig of a lifetime!"

I looked up from the plate of blueberry crepes that I had been picking at with my fork. "Oh?"

"You're gonna love me for this, baby," He was talking in his knock-off British, like he always did when he used "baby". "I'm sure you've heard of a little fashion designer that goes by the name of… Usurp Randolph?"

My silver fork clattered to the cobblestone patio. Of course I had heard of Usurp Randolph! It was unthinkable for me _not_ to know who he was. I mean, honestly, he was only the most sought after designer in France and Spain, if not all of Europe. His clothing line, "Les Poissons", had begun on runways in France and after that it had caught like an epidemic through Spain and the rest of Europe. Across the sea, the epidemic hadn't reached yet but it was rumored that Usurp Randolph was going to try and infect the people of America.

Chas leaned over and looked at my fork on the ground then to my wide eyes and slack jaw. He sat up straight and smiled. "Yup, well guess what, baby! Usurp, himself, said that he wanted you to be his poster-girl for his American line!"

"That's wonderful, Chas!" I screeched, causing those dining on the patio around us to turn sharply my way. I looked around, smiling, but their puckered lips and downcast eyes told me I would have no forgiveness from these heartless socialites. Chas slathered a piece of toast with butter until it was falling apart in his hands from the saturation.

"How much do you love me?" He stuffed the piece of toast in his mouth.

I laughed, my obnoxiously loud laugh was made even more so by the glares of my arrogant dinner guests. I loved to be especially obnoxious when people stared. "Now, Chas, promise me you won't have me doing anymore magazine shoots. Runway is fine but no more magazines."

"Why?" He slathered another piece of toast down with butter. "They're such good publicity for you."

"If I haven't gotten enough publicity by now then I'm never going to get enough." The thought of doing yet another Vogue, Cosmopolitan, or InStyle magazine with the title having anything to do with "new beauty" made me feel sick to my stomach. "I can't stand being seen as some guideline for beauty. It makes me physically sick to think that some girl out there is using me as their role model."

"You can never get enough publicity. You do realize that you and that other model, Marijuana or something of the sort, are the only two models vying for the title of New Beauty? But, okay, alright, you win. If you really want to give up that easily…" Chas looked at his Rolex wristwatch and groaned. "Looks like I've gotta run. I'll call you later to tell you when Usurp wants you for the clothes-fitting."

I remained seated, smiling up at Chas as he leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Congratulations Ada," He kissed my other cheek. "You're the new face of "Les Poissons"." And my face creased into a smile. I didn't put much significance behind Chas' warning of this new model. Perhaps it was confidence, perhaps cockiness.

Chas left and a waiter came up to hand me a fresh fork. I smiled up at him. The poor boy, not much older than me, was sent aflame as his cheeks blushed a scarlet red. He hurried off into the closed-in portion of the restaurant and I commence to pick at my blueberry crepes with the new fork.

_New York is an awfully big city_, I thought to myself from the safety of my apartment building. I was sitting in the lobby on an overly stuffed couch by a window overlooking the busy street. _Big cities are always made bigger when you don't know anyone._

My brunch with Chas had gone well but I wasn't ready to face the emptiness of my apartment. Normally, I loved the simple pleasure of alone time but this wasn't one of those times. So, there I was, sitting in the fancy lobby of my apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, bordering Manhattan Bay. The guests walked through, wrapped up in their expensive furs and drenched in diamonds, and no doubt thought I was crazy. Only a crazy girl would sit by an open window in Manhattan with the busy traffic just outside the window, honking their horns and shouting their blasphemy into her ear. They glared. I would straighten my neck at their glares, meet their gaze, and smile my most dazzling smile from my couch before looking back down at the book in my lap as I waited patiently for Ms. Janson to arrive for the interview I had promised her.

If there was something I understood it was socialites, especially the older socialites. I had grown up around socialites, my own mother being the Queen Bee. No matter where you traveled, they were all alike. They hated to see young people with money; more-so young, happy people with money. It was like they believed you couldn't be happy unless you had money and you couldn't be happy with money until you were old. If you were young, happy and had money then automatically, you were labeled a wastrel and a fool. I suppose there's no pleasing some people.

"Hi," I heard a familiar voice. "We're looking for Ada Summer's room."

"Names?" The concierge spoke in a faintly European accent, perhaps German. I looked up and saw the back of Jeanne Janson and a young man standing in front of the concierge. The young man was much taller than Ms. Janson and had a camera strung over his shoulder.

"Ms. Janson!" I dog-eared the page in my book and stood to join them. Ms. Janson shook my hand with both of her hands.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Summers." She said. "You don't know how important this interview is for me."

"This is Peter Parker. He works for The Daily Bugle with me as a photographer slash journalist." Jeannie had noticed I was looking over at the man behind her. "He's an honest boy and has made a promise to keep what we discuss here to himself. I trust him and know he would never break a promise. It's just, he was assigned to take pictures of you for the social section of The Daily Bugle and I thought it would be nice for you two to meet before you had him following you around everywhere." She paused then continued in a worried voice. "If you don't want him here for your interview then I understand. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought him."

This "boy" she spoke of didn't look like a boy to me. He was nearly six foot, light brown hair, blue eyes, and a build that wasn't football-bulky but he definitely had muscle. I looked into his blue eyes and knew I could trust him. Don't ask how I knew, I don't even know. For all I knew he could be getting ready to tape-record my every word during the interview in order to turn around to sell it to a magazine other than The Daily Bugle, but I didn't think so.

"It's fine." I looked at Peter's camera and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Camera?"

Peter looked down at the camera and chuckled. "I've gotten so used to putting this thing around my neck before I go to work that I didn't realize I wouldn't need it today." He opened the back of the camera, took the roll of film out and slipped it into his pocket. He closed the camera up and smiled at me. "No pictures today."

"Alright, well I guess we can go up to my apartment." They followed me as I walked to the elevator and the three of us got in. I held my hands behind my back and looked up at the numbers over the door light up. 1… 2… 3…

"So Ms. Summers," Ms. Janson spoke up, "How long are you going to be in New York?"

Her question caught me off-guard as, until that moment, the thought had yet to cross my mind. "I- I don't know. Dr. Rausenbluem only told me that we were coming to New York City to establish another of his laboratories. He never said when we were to leave." The doors opened and we walked out. We were on a spacious landing. The summer sun was shining through the windows, setting fire to the golden oak floors. The landing was completely bare, except for the Philip-paneled oak door opposite to the elevator. I walked to the door and they followed close behind. "We should leave when he establishes the laboratory." I unlocked my apartment and walked in, throwing my keys into a bowl on the white marble counter. "Or, at least I guess that's when we'll leave."

"Did something break?" Peter asked, standing before the broken shards of the mirror from this morning.

"Oh," I laughed it off. I grabbed a broom and dustpan between the counter and refrigerator in the kitchen. "I may be graceful on the catwalk but I'm a total butter finger in real life. Go ahead and make yourself at home while I clean this up." I started to sweep the shards into the dustpan. From the corner of my eye I could see Peter and Ms. Janson walk around the living room.

I was emptying the shards into the trash when I heard Ms. Janson call out merrily, "Oh my! What a view!" She had seen the view of Manhattan Bay from my balcony.

I came into the living room. "It's nice, isn't it? Without that view I would say this apartment is too bland for my tastes." I looked around the room, the completely black and white-washed room. If only life could be so simple; black and white, never smidgens of gray to muddy up the perfect lines.

Ms. Janson and Peter sat together on the larger couch, while I chose to sit adjacent to them on the loveseat. Ms. Janson retrieved a small voice-recorder from her purse.

"I know how cowardly this is going to sound," I said. My voice was small like a child's, and try as I might I couldn't make myself sound the twenty years that I was. "But before we begin… can we all just promise to leave my name out of this?"

"Yes, of course. We wouldn't dream of putting you in any sort of trouble." Ms. Janson said, her sympathetic eyes shining. "Would we Peter?"

"No." He said, "Ms. Summers, understand that what you say here will go to the printers without a name behind it."

"Alright. Well, what do you want to know? He's a madman and must be stopped. I've tried to talk to him but he still does what he's been doing. Maybe when he sees his name all over The Daily Bugle he'll realize that his secret is out."

I spilled out everything I knew about my fiancée's dealings in his lab; well, at least as much as I was willing to release. I told them how he was indeed creating clones, how he had used the DNA of a mutated human for regeneration, and how he earned his fortune in selling these secrets to foreign countries. Creating clones was legal but only with an agreement from the government of the country he's creating them in. No one outside of his lab knew about these clones. Mutating humans or the altering of human DNA without specified permission had been outlawed. As for his fortune in selling those secrets to foreign countries, God only knew what use they would put to his findings. This outpouring lasted three hours and by the time I had finished, Peter and Ms. Janson were stunned.

"I-I-I have t-to make a copy of this." Ms. Janson stuttered, her fingers fumbling with the tape recorder in her hand. Her forehead glistened as though covered in diamond-drops. A bead of sweat slipped in-between her brows when she looked at me again. "Do you have anywhere to be, Ms. Summers?"

"No, it's alright. Go right on ahead." I stood from the couch. "You're welcome here as long as you like. I'm going to make lunch for us. I'm famished."

Ms. Janson nodded and began again to fumble with the little recorder. Peter followed me into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he leaned his back against the granite countertop. I stuck my head into the refrigerator then once I had filled my arms with salsa, sour cream, a jar of jalapenos, and velveeta I closed the fridge door. I turned too quickly and with all of the stuff I was carrying, I accidentally dropped the jar of salsa.

"Shoot!" I cried, knowing that in a split second I would have salsa all over the kitchen floor. Peter, too quick for my eyes to register, grabbed the jar before it hit the ground. He lifted his hand up, the jar safely in it, a wide smile on his lips. His blue eyes were twinkling when he looked at me, his perfect, white smile glittering.

"You're fast." I said slowly as I felt myself swimming in his eyes. He began to feel uncomfortable under my gaze, I noticed as he tried to clear his throat. "Oh, umm, sorry…" I said and turned on my heel. The momentum from my turning caused the jalapenos to crash to the marble floor, sending the withered, lime-green peppers scattered between pieces of the broken jar. "Shoot, again!"

He laughed as he dropped to his knees and started to help me pick the jalapenos up. "You weren't kidding when you said you were a butter finger."

I felt my cheeks growing warm. "Yeah, I wish I had been. It's pretty bad. My mother used to tell me that girls are born with a natural grace." I paused. "Nature must have skipped me when she was passing out grace tokens."

We were hunched over the broken jar in silence for a short time until he spoke again. "What you're doing for Jeannie, it's really kind of you."

My shoulders shrugged to their own accord. "It's not a big deal. I'm tired of seeing Jacque, erm Dr. Rausenbluem, walking all over people like he's king or something. It isn't right."

"Still. You just saved her from an earful and maybe even a pink slip. Mr. Jameson would have been livid if Jeannie hadn't gotten an interview with Dr. Rausenbluem. Now that she has the interview with you, every other magazine and newspaper reporter will still be stumbling over themselves to try and get him to talk while we've already published yours." He paused. "Jeannie works hard and doesn't get nearly a third of the credit she deserves. I've never met a woman so honest in her reporting." He looked at me with those blue eyes and dear God, I felt myself falling. "It would be easy for her to lie, month after month, and have her articles placed in the better part of the magazine. God knows she's thrown into a business full to the brim with liars, but she never does and month after month her articles show up at the very end of the magazine where people hardly ever read. Because of you her article will be on the cover of The Daily Bugle and people will finally realize what a great journalist she is."

"You give me too much credit." The jalapenos had been picked up and I started to pick up the pieces of glass.

"You're going to cut yourself," Peter grabbed the broom and dustpan. "Let me sweep it up."

"It's fine." I said and for the second time that day, I stuck my foot in my mouth. I grabbed a piece of glass and the sharp edge of it got me just right. "Ouch." I rose to my feet. From a small cut on the tip of my finger blood beaded out in a steady stream.

"Careful, let me see." He took my finger and looked at the cut. "Think you got any glass in there?"

The cut vanished before his eyes. His eyebrows knitted together and as I noticed what had happened, I pulled my finger away and cradled it against my chest.

"It's fine." My words came out sharp as the glass shards. Their razor-edges were obviously felt by him as he put his hands into the air and laughed.

"Whoa, okay, I was just checking."

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry." My words wouldn't work. Try as I might, I couldn't think of an excuse for the rapid healing of my finger or for my snappy response. I just stood there; hand cradled to my chest, cheeks flushed, glass shards around my feet. If I had no excuse then I figured there was no use giving him time to dwell on what had just happened. "So much for salsa and chips." I opened the freezer door and peered inside to the cavernous world of ice. Nothing there.

I turned to the pantry closet. Second shelf from the top I found a box of macaroni and cheese. I pulled the box out and looked over my shoulder at Peter. "How does Mac-and-Cheese sound?"

"Sounds good." He walked over to the fridge and took out the butter and soymilk.

"Good because Mac-and-Cheese and salsa are about the only things left in my bag of tricks." I closed the pantry door. He was holding up the soymilk, his face screwed up in disgust. "Soymilk won't do anything to the taste." I snatched the soymilk from his hand and feigned offense.

"Okay, okay, okay." He leaned against the counter to watch as I bustled around the kitchen, preparing the Mac-and-Cheese.

"Sorry it isn't anything fancier," I handed Peter and Ms. Janson their heaping bowls of Mac-and-Cheese then sat on the couch with my own. "Unfortunately, I'm not much of a cook."

Peter shoveled a massive spoonful into his mouth. "No, don't be sorry. This is great." He swallowed the mass of yellow noodles and smiled. "Yum, yum."

"Yes, it's fine Ms. Summers." Ms. Janson looked up from her notes. "I wish I could stay but I really need to get back to the office to record my notes. Thank you very much." She stood from her place, gathering the notes and voice recorder into her black bag.

I stood and helped her gather the sheets of white paper that covered my coffee table. "It was my pleasure, really."

Peter stood also, having finished his bowl of macaroni. I walked the two to the door. They thanked me for my time and left. Before they had left Ms. Janson planned one more interview the next day to "wrap up any loose ends."

I walked back to the coffee table where I had set my bowl. I picked up my spoon and swallowed down the macaroni. The acrid taste of overcooked food made me spit the mess back into the bowl.

"Ugh!" I tossed the bowl into the sink. From the kitchen I looked into the living room and through the balcony's sliding glass door. The sun was still bright in the sky. I had yet to wander around this busy city and suddenly had the sharp yearning to do just that.

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_Review/rant as always. Please and thank you!_


	8. Chapter 7

_Hope everyone had a great Easter! _

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Chapter 7

With the urge to explore the wide jungle of New York gnawing at my limbs, I changed into a more comfortable pair of high-heels and left my apartment building. The concierge stopped me at the door and asked if I required a taxi. When I replied that I wouldn't need one as I was going for a walk, he looked at me as if I had just spoken some long forgotten language. I smiled and continued down the sidewalk, not knowing exactly where it would end. A few turns, a couple more loops and I was in the business section of New York where gargantuan buildings stretched to the heavens.

I walked for some time, looking at the wondrous skyscrapers that crowded around each other like saplings fighting for the sparse rays of sun in a crowded forest. One building in particular caught my eye. Its beautiful windows glittered like diamonds, black diamonds. I stood for a while on the sidewalk, my back to the thick traffic, neck twisted in a painful incline to look at the tall building and its black diamond windows. Men and women alike, dressed in sharp business suits, were spewed from the revolving doors of the building while some were gobbled up. The circle of life of New York City.

It was getting late. The sparkling windows began to lose their sparkle as the sun dipped behind neighboring buildings.

_You've seen New York, now let's try and not see the underground of New York._ I thought to myself, remembering New York's terrible problem with crime.

I turned on my heel to leave and found that I was on the corner of a four-way intersection. The street itself seemed to be carved from a block of skyscrapers, so closely set were these buildings. I looked around, trying to figure out which street to take to get back to my apartment. Every street looked the same.

The sun was sinking deeper. I felt the first tingles of panic setting in as I shook my fingertips to relax.

"Eenie, meenie, minie, mo." I chose a street at random and began to walk.

Within minutes I found myself in a place I would never want to be. The skyscrapers changed into rundown apartment buildings. Like the missing teeth in an old man's smile, many of the apartments were missing their windows. Those apartments that still had windows had thick black bars covering them. I pulled the strap of my purse higher onto my shoulder and looked down at the sidewalk.

I figured eventually this ghetto would end and I would find myself in another business section. After another ten minutes of walking, my feet began to ache. The ache in my feet became unbearable and I slipped into an alley to remove my shoes. Standing on one heeled foot, my back against the wall of the alley, I removed my shoe and began to press the tips of my fingers into the tight muscles of my foot.

As I rubbed and kneaded my aching muscles, I realized I had lost myself in one of the larger ghettos of New York, a little place aptly named Hell's Kitchen. It was a place where the lowest and most dangerous of New York's citizens were made.

I had seen Hell's Kitchen mentioned in the newspaper; a regular in the crime section. With a gripping fear, I realized I could very well be another name under Hell's Kitchen's casualties. I slipped my heel back onto my foot and was about to leave the safety of the alley when two men's voices caused me to freeze in my tracks.

"Well, well, well, Charlie," One of the men spoke. "Look at what we've found here."

"Looks like we found ourselves a pretty little birdie." The other man spoke. I didn't turn. Rather, I kept on walking towards the sidewalk. Their footsteps came closer. For every step they took, I took two. Finally I burst onto the sidewalk and a sense of calm washed over me. I told myself that they wouldn't be able to get me now that I was in the safety of an open street. People were everywhere, sitting on the stairs to their apartment, sitting on the fire escapes, walking down the sidewalks. Here, with so many people, I was safe. I was wrong.

One of the men grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the dark alley. I screamed. No one on the street so much as turned their head my way.

"Come back birdie," The man dragged me into the alley, "All we's wanted was to dance."

I tried to scream again but the two men just laughed. "You're in Hell's Kitchen now. No one here cares."

"What about Daredevil? Boss, he scares me!" One of the men spoke. He was obviously the dumber of the two. The other man punched his shoulder.

"Don't say that name! Anyways, Daredevil hasn't been seen for a long time now and Spiderman doesn't wander 'round here." The "smarter" of the two looked down at me. "Spiderman prefers those high society folks, kinda like you's."

I looked up at the man, backing up against the brick wall of the alley. "Look, I-I don't want any trouble."

"Give us your purse."

I handed it over. They rummaged through it and pulled out my wallet. One of the men took my wallet and started counting the credit cards and money it contained. The other man sat on the floor and continued to rummage through my purse. It was now or never.

I jumped to my feet then shoved my heel into the chest of the man who was sitting on the floor. He dropped my purse and I snatched it up as I ran from the alley and down the sidewalk.

I ran until my lungs were aching. I ran until my head was pounding. I ran until my heel broke and I fell on the rough sidewalk. I looked back, afraid I was going to see the two muggers chasing close behind. Luckily, there was no one left on the street.

"I hate New York City." I replied, pulling myself from the sidewalk. "I _hate_ it!"


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

The outline of a shapely young woman slowly crossed over the tops of the apartment buildings in Hell's Kitchen. Her slow stride was confident and infinitely patient. As she neared the end of one building, she jumped the small five foot gap and landed onto the next. She continued this until she reached a much larger gap. One minute she stood on the ledge. The next, she had dropped down and disappeared into the alley below.

She landed in a kneeling position, one knee against the ground, one hand to steady her. The two muggers stumbled back into the darker part of the alley, startled.

"Who the fuck is you?"

Sirene looked up, a smirk on her raspberry lips. "I couldn't help but overhear that you wanted to dance with the young lady." She ran at one of the muggers, full speed. As she passed him by she took hold of his wrists. Using the momentum she had gathered from running, she leaned back onto her heels and spun the man. When she let go of him he slammed into the brick side of the alley. He hit the bricks with a –SMACK-. After he had peeled off of the wall and fallen she used up the last bit of her momentum and spun on her heel like a graceful ballerina. "Well, sorry to break it to you boys, but dance lessons are closed."

The second, much larger, mugger ran at her. He leaned his head down in an head-butting stance.

Twenty feet. He was stampeding closer. Fifteen feet. She could hear his ragged breath. Ten feet. She could see the beads of sweat on the back of his neck. Five feet. At the last minute she grabbed the dagger from the utility belt around her upper thigh. She slammed one knee into the pavement and detracted the dagger so that it became her Triton. The metal prongs were facing towards the man. Surely, within milliseconds he would come stampeding into its dagger-like corners and impale his stomach. Before he could cause himself any harm, she spun the dagger so that the prongs were closest to the ground and the blunt end was facing up. She thrust the blunt end into the man's stomach. With his momentum and her triton, she sent him flying through the air. He came to land behind her, on his back, the air knocked from his lungs.

"It's pigs like you that give men and New York a bad name." Sirene stood wearily. She brushed her fingertips over the gold shaft of the Triton as she walked over to where the man was lying. He was wriggling like a worm. "And make my job all the more enjoyable."

She kneeled beside him. From the utility belt around her thigh, she retrieved a syringe of clear liquid which she emptied into his arm. His wriggling stopped as his eyelids became heavier and heavier still until they dropped completely. She emptied another, identical, syringe into his friend's arm as well. "Now for the fun to start."

With a heave she dragged the men out towards the entrance of the alley.

An hour passed and Sirene waited patiently on the top of a building overlooking a small public park just outside of Hell's Kitchen. She was waiting for the tranquilizer to wear off. Considering the entire syringe hadn't been emptied in his bloodstream, she calculated that it would only last for an hour or so.

Her calculations had been right on. The two men woke to the roar of laughter. She watched as they regained the use of their limbs. Wide-eyed and frantic, they tried desperately to escape from the hundreds of eyes that followed their naked, flabby bodies. They ran from one end of the park to the other, zigzagging between trees and bushes, their hands covering their frontal areas. All over their bodies, in purple marker, read, "Crime doesn't pay." And "Karma sucks."

One of the naked men tripped on a twig and fell face-first, too full of pride to uncover his privates and catch himself. His friend didn't so much as look back as he cut through the park and continued running down the sidewalk. A police officer standing idly by heard the laughter and saw the naked man running down the sidewalk. He chased after him.

The panicked mugger saw the police officer chasing after him. Fear sent his legs whirling like a windmill. Although driven by fear, the mugger was out of shape and quickly lost his breath. Soon after he was tackled to the ground by the officer.

The other man that had tripped and fallen was getting up. He started running again. Sirene saw this and jumped from the building, holding tight to the corner as she slid to the ground. As soon as her feet touched solid ground again, she was off running after the man in the park.

"Hey, tubby!" She called after him, waving her hand. He turned and saw her. Immediately his face contorted into an image of pure terror and he sped off. "Wait up!"

She pumped her legs until the space between herself and the man began to close in. Five feet away, she jumped onto his shoulders. He fell face first into the dirt. When she stood, she dug the heel of her boot into his back.

A group of kids who had been playing in the park came to stand around Sirene and the fallen mugger.

"Eww! He's naked!" One of the kids screamed, covering their eyes with their hands.

"Did you see that lady tackle him?" Another kid.

"Yeah, no big deal." Another kid spoke defensively, "My daddy can do that!"

Sirene smiled. "Do you think I could have that?" One of the children held a jump rope in their hand.

The child beamed with pride and handed the jump rope over, happy to be helping. Sirene thanked the child and proceeded to hog-tie the mugger so that his ankles were tied tight to his wrists. When Sirene stood the children were giggling uncontrollably.

"Alright kids, you all should go on home. It's getting late." She pointed towards the dark night sky. "And remember: crime doesn't pay. Want to end up like Mr. Naked Guy over here?"

"No!" They screamed in unison. Sirene nodded then ran off as a group of police officers ran up.

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_Special thanks to those of you have kept up with this story. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me. Hope you've been enjoying it so far. _

_If there's anything that seems out of place, out of character, or just plain stupid... as always, do tell! I can't improve unless someone points out my mistakes. :) _


	10. Chapter 9

So here we go! Chapter 9! Sorry it took me so long to get this up here. I've had a lot of homework and tests and stress and- and-... ughh! Anyways... here's Chapter 9! Enjoy :)

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Chapter 9:

"Ada? Hellooo?"

I woke up to the sound of banging. Chunks of sleep still lodged in my eyes, I fell out of bed, the comforter falling with me so that it covered me in complete dark.

"Ughh," I groaned, trying to will myself to my feet. "I'm coming! Just a minute, please!"

I wiggled free of the comforter and stood. Walking to the front door in my pajamas, I rubbed the sleep free from my eyes and opened the door. Ms. Janson, Jeannie, stood with a beaming smile plastered onto her face.

"Geeze, I thought for a minute there you had forgotten about our interview." She looked down at my pajamas. "Oh… guess you did. My goodness child, it's nearly five in the afternoon in your still in your pajamas!" She didn't seem the least bit hurt as she slid past me and into my apartment. She took a seat on the couch, same place she had sat yesterday. "Now, let's get this interview crackin'."

Three hours later and Jeannie had hardly a page's worth of notes written down on her yellow legal pad. I don't think I had ever met someone so easy to talk to as Jeannie. To call our three hours an "interview" would be an extreme overstatement.

"My goodness," She spoke, looking out my balcony at the sun setting over Manhattan Bay. "Would you look at that!"

I turned my head. The sky was lit up a peach and grapefruit pink, the Atlantic Ocean reflecting the colors of the sky so that it looked as if the ocean were a pool of stirring magma. "It's gorgeous. I guess New York isn't _too_ horrible when you've got moments like these."

Jeannie nodded, smiling.

"You know, every day I wake up to sirens and baby's crying and I'm almost tempted to leave this place." She kept her steady gaze on the disappearing sun. "I tell myself it would be easy to leave the ruckus and violence behind. I've got nieces and nephews. I tell myself I could go live with them, somewhere nice and quiet like Wisconsin. Nothing bad ever happens in Wisconsin." She paused, licking her weathered lips.

"What's stopping you?"

"Every morning, I want to leave this place and never look back. But every night, right before I go to bed, I remember something from the day that gives me hope for this city. One day it might be seeing a fireman pulling a man from a burning building, the next day it could be a little girl opening a door for an old woman like myself. Just so happens that today it's something as simple as watching the sun set with a friend."

The word "friend" hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath from my lungs. I looked over at Jeannie who was still looking at the horizon, the purple night sky chasing after the long-gone sun.

Friend. She had said it with such nonchalance like we were old friends at a habitual noontime tea.

_Friend._ I ran the word through my head. It created a gentle warmth that brought a dreamy smile to my face. A genuine friend. One who wasn't interested in my money, status or appearance. Someone who just enjoyed my company.

I turned to set my gaze upon the horizon as she had. The air was still; as the air is wanton to do right before nightfall. For a brief moment the mechanical hum of the city was drowned out by the seagulls flying over the water.

"Ada?" Jeannie said my name as though she were asking. We kept both of our heads turned forward, unable to break away from the purpling sky.

"Mmhmm?"

"Thank you."

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Special thank you goes out to Asuperheroatheart! Your tips helped a lot! Mucho, mucho gracias. 


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